If Given The Chance
by MiHnn
Summary: Even if it is the right thing, even if it is expected, letting go is the hardest thing if it is for something you
1. Chapter 1

**A/N - A multi-chapter with an extremely heavy subject matter. For this reason, I'll be uploading the chapters once a day until it's over. It's already complete, so you don't have to worry about this story going on hiatus. If you read my drabbles you'll recognise Chapter 1. That's because this story has been expanded to a 6-part fic.**

**Prompt:** _"I would give anything to go back and marry you. If only to drink butterbeer together on our honeymoon. But I have to let you go. And I badly don't want to."_

* * *

**One**

**.**  
There is nothing worse than idiots, Draco decided, as he kicked a lonely rock like a petulant child. He had spent his day listening to morons with absolutely no common sense.

_We should do this, Mr Malfoy. We should do that._

"We should kick your buggering arses so you twits can speak _sense_," he mumbled darkly to himself.

A small laugh drew his attention and he felt his shoulders relax instantly.

"You're late," he said without turning around. His tone was curt, but not without a teasing lilt to it.

"Come now, Draco. Have you known me _ever_ to be late?" she said with a light, teasing tone.

He had fully intended to be difficult, but hearing her voice, knowing that she was there, his baser instincts won out as he turned to face her. He couldn't hide the scowl that played on his lips, though.

His wife made a happy tsking sound. "You really should smile more."

His scowl deepened, and her laugh was short and sweet.

He stood under an impressive tree, one that has been in the Malfoy family for centuries. Its branches were strong, the roots deep, and as usual, his wife sat gracefully on a thick branch as she looked down at him with amusement colouring her brown eyes. Not for the first time, Draco thought of her as a wooden nymph. There was a carefree quality to her, one that made him smile.

"Who was it this time?" she asked, teasing him.

Draco felt the smile he sported immediately morph into a bitter frown. "Melson," he said, spitting out the name with distaste. "How can someone be so socially acceptable and yet not have a proper brain to lean on?"

Her brows scrunched up in thought. "Andle Melson?" she asked.

Draco nodded.

"Wasn't he Fudge's friend?" she asked thoughtfully. "I remember him attending some of our events with his wife."

Draco let out a tired sigh. "That's the one. He came highly recommended by Fudge himself. I should have known the twit was useless."

She looked at him gently, her expression one of understanding. "What happened?"

"He suggested we pull out the funding for the Muggle businesses. I suspected you might have something to say about that."

She shifted on the branch so she could look at him better, her expression curious. "What did he have in mind, exactly?"

Draco scowled as he looked away from her. "I didn't listen, did I? I kicked him out of the office the moment he opened his useless mouth."

A sound of exasperation passed from her lips, causing Draco to look up at her in surprise.

"You disagree?"

"Of course I disagree. Businesses are just that, businesses. You can't keep funding the same things. Times change and Malfoy Enterprises must keep up with those changes."

"We can do what we bloody well want."

"Even if it means losing opportunities?"

He snorted. "No one would dare pass on us."

"What about losing your business? Or even the poor employees who would be out of a job?"

He scoffed. "First of all, employees can be easily replaced, and second," he said quickly, determined to interrupt her blossoming argument, "that would never happen."

"Why not?" she asked innocently.

"Because my beautiful wife will be coming back to take over the reigns she left behind."

The corners of her smile dipped, her eyes saddening by the mere thought. "You know I can't do that."

"Why not?" he asked stubbornly. "I hate to admit it but they all prefer having you over me."

"I'm nicer," she said teasingly.

"You're a bloody briber, that's why," he said with a smirk. "You promise them raises and vacations. You ask them about their mothers and fathers and babies. You even know the names of the bloody doormen!"

"Dexter, Alfred and Rolf," she recited proudly.

He looked at her pointedly. "You can come back. I can fix it. No doubt everyone would agree with me. Especially Potter and Weasel."

She leant her head against the large bark of the tree, her smile becoming sadder than before. "I miss them."

"You would, even though no one else likes them half as much," Draco said quickly, hoping to bring the subject back to lighter matters. "Potter has been more broody lately. He snaps at people for no reason and nearly punched me in the face."

"He did?" The question seemed to perk her up.

"Twice," Draco said with a scowl. "He seems to think it's my fault."

Her eyes softened. "He knows that's not true. There was nothing any of you could have done. What about Ron?"

Draco snorted, looking away. "Depressed," he said softly. "Won't talk, won't eat, apparently…" He kept his gaze down, focusing on the base of the tree. It took him a while to notice her calling to him.

"Draco?"

He looked up reluctantly, the laughter having gone out of his eyes.

Her voice was soft and coaxing. "You know that there was nothing you could have done, right?"

He nodded for the benefit of his wife, his hand rising to run pale fingers against the bark of the tree he stood under. He didn't know if he believed her. He still blamed himself, if only partly.

"Draco?" she said again, her voice softer that before.

When he finally looked at her, his grey eyes held the sadness that he had been hiding for the benefit of his wife. "You can come back."

"No." She shook her head, her eyes kind. "I can't."

"Why not?"

"You know why."

It was the same argument they had had every single day for a while now. He couldn't help but think that they were both too stubborn to move past the stalemate.

"Explain it to me."

She sighed, the sound soft and full of frustration. It reminded him of the countless times she had used that same sound to get him to do things that he never wanted to do in the first place. How he missed that sound. "There's a time for everything to begin and end. I have completed my time."

He looked at her stubbornly. "No, you haven't."

"Yes, I have."

He knew what she was asking of him. He knew he was selfish, but the thought of the alternative alone, seemed harder than what they currently had.

"You have to let me go," she said softly.

He shook his head instinctively. "No."

"Draco…"

"No!" he said forcefully. "I'm…" He paused, letting a low breath escape him. "I'm not ready yet."

Her smile was sad, yet understanding. "Then I shall wait until you _are_ ready."

"That might never happen."

"I think it might."

He couldn't help but let himself smirk at the familiar characteristic that was still present. "Always the optimist."

"Always the cynic," she countered with a wide grin. "Now," she said quickly, no doubt trying her hardest to change the subject to something less dreary, "tell me, who agreed with Melson's proposed changes?"

Draco rolled his eyes as he regaled her with the horrid tale. His wife laughed when she was supposed to, and chastised him for his behaviour when it was appropriate. By the time the sun had set and she had left, he had a soft smile fixed on his lips.

Thinking impatiently of his next planned visit, Draco knelt down at the base of the tree and conjured a bouquet of his wife's favourite flowers to be placed on her grave that was marked by a simple tombstone. He then pulled his robes around him tighter and started for Malfoy Manor.

_Here lies,  
Hermione Jean Malfoy.  
Hero, Wife and Friend._


	2. Chapter 2

**Two**

**.**

The light streaming through the lone window had almost an ethereal quality. Draco frowned as he studied it extensively, his back stiff from staying in a seated position for quite a while, his arm hurting where his elbow met the wooden arm of his chair. He shifted in his seat, his gaze staying on the bright sunlight that made the gloomy hallway less melancholy.

When he had first arrived, he had studied the other patients who were seated on either side of him and his wife, from the parents and their children to the grandparents and their grandchildren. It was an atmosphere of small whispers and random bouts of coughing, making him feel uneasy by the sicknesses so tangible that he could practically feel it under his own skin.

Since he had been a child, Draco had never considered how important a hospital could be. It was always a place where the sick people went to get better and where the dying went to receive their last hope. He was detached as to their roles and theories. He didn't give a fig as to what they did and when they did it: the Healers, the tacticians, the testers, the staff. They could do what they wanted, when they wanted. He never knew of anyone close to him who was forced to depend on how a hospital operated.

_Until now_, his mind reminded him sinisterly. _Until now._

Gentle fingers were placed reassuringly on his hand before entwining among his own to break him out of his reverie.

Draco sighed as he squeezed her hand subconsciously, his knee stalling mid-movement. He had a nasty habit of bouncing his leg whenever he was nervous. He had promised himself that he would stop it, if not for his sake, for hers. He really did make the worst promises. Hardly any of them were ever kept for long.

"Draco…"

He turned to his side, his thumb rubbing small circles across her soft skin in an effort to soothe her nerves.

Her smile was gentle as she cocked her head to the side to regard him, her brown curls glowing when she leant forward and her head touched the morning light. He knew that look. He had learned to ignore that look.

"It will be fine."

He raised one mocking eyebrow at her and snorted, causing his wife's grin to widen with humour. Her smile caused more pain inside his chest than he could ever tell her. It had become a rare occurrence during the past few months. As she became weaker, her body thinner, the dark circles under her eyes became a staple of what his wife now looked like. Her smile was the only thing that hadn't changed. He wanted to see it every time; more often than not, he had to irritate her to get the same results.

If it were up to him she would be currently snuggled warmly under a thick bedspread in Malfoy Manor, while having the Healers visit her. But his wife had been adamant on one thing: her life was not more important that another. If others had to take a number and wait in line, so would she. Draco cursed the Gryffindor in her nearly every single day of their marriage as a result of her stubbornness.

He felt her hand on his knee and inwardly cursed. He had done it again.

His eyes met hers reluctantly. She didn't say anything this time, her eyes saddened before she dropped her gaze as her finger traced an imaginary trail on his knee. His fingers tightened around the hand he held and raised it to his lips, placing a gentle kiss on the back of her hand fleetingly. He had never been someone to show affection in public. He found it crude and below his station in life. But the past few months had changed that. Any form of affection, be it in public or in private always warranted a small smile. He started caring less about what was proper and more of what she wanted. It was a change he wished he had embraced sooner.

"Mrs Malfoy."

Draco felt his insides twist terribly as they looked up at the Healer who had called her name. She was probably an assistant to the Healer they were to see, her smile a gentle and encouraging one.

"He will see you now."

Draco briefly wondered if Hermione would mind him untangling his hand from hers so he could hex the smile right off the witch. This was not something to be smiling about.

Draco stood up quickly, extending his other hand to help his wife onto her feet. She was unsteady, but determined, her arm circling his to gain her balance once her legs stopped shaking. Draco helped her walk to the door slowly, mindful of the pace she could keep.

Once inside, the Healer who had been sitting behind the desk stepped forward to help Hermione to her seat, so that Draco could let go of her arm and close the door behind them. They had done this several times until it had become an unspoken ritual. Draco joined her by sitting in the seat right beside her. He reached for her hand and circled his fingers around her stiff ones.

"Well," Greg Strind said with a low breath. He frowned as he looked down at the patient file.

Draco stiffened. He knew it was bad news even before the Healer looked up at them with sympathetic eyes.

Hermione was the first to speak. "It didn't work, did it?" She didn't sound as defeated as Draco felt. She sounded matter-of-fact.

Strind shook his head, his mouth set in a deep frown. Greg Strind was a relic, in Draco's opinion. The first time they had met, Draco had left the consultation complaining all the while about how incompetent he was as a Healer. The fact that this latest experiment was considered a failure only served to harden the opinion Draco had first had of him. He didn't believe a word the Healer was telling them with his gentle tone. The words, "I'm sorry," "We tried," and "There is nothing else we can do," sounding fake in Draco's ears. There was always an agenda. They probably wanted him to spend more money on the next treatment. It didn't matter; whatever they wanted, he would pay.

Hermione's slack hand twisted so that she was gripping onto him, her knuckles turning white with the effort. "How long do I have?" she asked softly, as if she had known that it had come to this all along.

Draco snorted, earning a surprising look from Hermione and a scandalised look from her 'Healer'.

He looked at his wife meaningfully. "Don't be ridiculous. We both know what this is." He then turned to Strind with a humourless smirk playing on his lips. "I'm not in the mood to play games. Tell me how much you want and I'll give it. We're not short of money, so we don't need to do this dance where you say that there is a possible treatment and it's expensive only for us to say that we can pay it. How much?"

Strind eyed the two of them incredulously: Draco with his bravado and Hermione looking away from them both.

Strind finally cleared his throat, his head shaking in sympathy. "I fear you don't understand why I called you in here, Mr Malfoy. What your wife tried, the potion that was recently created, that _was_ the last treatment option there is." Strind shared a look with Hermione, a look that Draco didn't understand. He firmly believed that this was a farce. How could the wizarding world _and_ the Muggle world not have a treatment for what she had? The idea was preposterous!

Draco's gaze narrowed. He was in no mood to play games. "How much?" he asked again. If they needed Galleons, he would shower them in Galleons.

He felt her squeeze his hand from beside him. "Draco…" Her voice was hoarse as she urged him to look at her. Draco met his gaze with hers, but he still didn't believe what she was trying to plead with him through her eyes.

"He's lying, Hermione." He fixed a meaningful look at Strind. "There is always a way, isn't there? I don't bloody care if we need to try dark magic. There is _always_ a way."

Strind sighed. "What we are trying to get rid from her body _is_ dark magic. What your aunt did—"

"Don't mention her," Draco snapped, his tone curt and cold. He had warned the Healer once before. He didn't fancy warning him again.

Strind nodded, as if he understood the pure hatred Draco felt for his mother's sister. "What happened to Hermione was brutal. Her blood is dying," he said carefully, as if Draco hadn't heard those same words for the past two years. "We have tried to revive it, replace it, replenish it, but the more we do the worse she gets. The dark magic inside her is cruel. It changes and adapts." He sighed again, his eyes lowering sadly. "I'm afraid to say that there is nothing else we can do."

Draco simply blinked at the wizard who he had placed all his hopes in not so long ago. He still didn't believe him. He couldn't; not even when his throat clenched painfully at the mere thought of losing her.

Hermione's voice, soft and pained, broke him out of his reverie. "How long do I have?" she asked again.

Draco watched Strind carefully, the way he leant back and shook his head. "I can't say for sure. But for a case like this… six months… maybe a year."

Hermione's grip tightened further around his hand, and Draco stood up carefully. "Come on," he said gently as he helped his confused wife from her seat. Hermione let him lead her outside, her eyes studying his grey ones as he carefully placed her in the empty seat closest to the door. Before she could grab a hold of him, he had stepped back inside and closed the door behind him.

"What aren't you telling us?" his voice was deep with a hidden threat underneath. It made Strind jump in surprise.

"Nothing, Mr Malfoy. I told you everything."

Stalking forward, Draco placed both hands on the desk and leant close until his cold eyes met the fearful ones of the Healer. "Don't lie, Mr Strind. If there is a way that my wife can be saved, I _will_ find it. If I learn that you have been keeping it from me, I will not only make sure that you will have no career to come back to, but it would be surprising if anyone finds you in the first place."

Strind stared at Draco incredulously, the threat hanging between them for a beat before he finally spoke.

"Your wife is a personal hero of mine, just as she is for my wife and daughter," he said sincerely. "If there was anything I can do, I would do it." He shook his head, his eyes saddened. "But there isn't. I'm sorry, Mr Malfoy, but the best thing we can do is make her comfortable. It's the only way we can help her."

Draco stood up straight, hoping that the tightening in his chest was due to some other ridiculous reason rather than the thought of losing Hermione.

He narrowed his eyes at the Healer once again in a silent threat, his voice deadly. "I hope for your sake that you're wrong, Mr Strind."

Before waiting for an answer, Draco turned on his heel and left the room quickly, slamming the door in his wake.


	3. Chapter 3

**Three**

**.**

The sun was setting too fast for Draco's liking. He watched carefully, squinting at the orange rays as the light became dimmer all around him. The gentle breeze picked up slightly and the leaves of the tree he stood under rustled with a crinkling sound, reminding him that the hour was late.

Draco shivered. She was late and he didn't like it.

He frowned as he stepped closer to the tombstone that protruded from the earth near the base of the large oak tree. When they had been married—even if it was a short while—Hermione rather enjoyed taking long walks along the estate of Malfoy Manor. During the evenings she would then stop under this very tree, lean against the hard bark and sigh pleasantly as she watched the sun set. It was her favourite part of the day. When she had passed, Draco knew that he had to bury her at the place she loved the most and not in the family crypt that was concealed deep within the vaults of the Manor. She deserved to have sunlight on her face, not be cornered by darkness.

He waited impatiently for a while longer before his legs gave way under him. He was exhausted after a hard day's work and he wanted nothing more than to rest. But, he couldn't miss her.

Placing a warming charm around himself, Draco pocketed his wand and then proceeded to sit beside his wife's grave with his back against the thick trunk of the tree. He couldn't go to sleep without seeing her. He will wait all night if he had to.

"Draco…"

Draco blinked open his eyes quickly as he realised with anguish that he had fallen asleep, if only for a little while. It was dark out, but he could still make out the image of his wife under the light of a partial moon as she knelt in front of him. The urge to touch her was overwhelming. He chose to snap at her instead.

"Where were you?"

She winced visibly at his sharp tone, her eyes becoming saddened as she shook her head.

"Why did you wait for me? You shouldn't have done that." Her smile was gentle. "Aren't you cold?"

Draco shook his head as he sat up straighter, choosing not to acknowledge the way her tone had been coloured with worry.

"Where were you?" he asked again, his voice less harsh but not as unforgiving. "I have been waiting for hours."

Hermione leant back until she was sitting on her legs, her eyes falling on her nervously entwining fingers that were placed on her lap.

"We agreed long ago that if we were to do this, if we were to meet, you would let me go eventually." She raised her eyes so that they met his: his wide and panicked, hers calm and dead. "It's time to let me go," she said gently.

Draco shook his head quickly, the very thought of not speaking with her leaving him with an empty feeling inside of him. "It's only been a few months."

"Draco," she said sadly. She shifted closer to him, a hand raising as if to touch him before her fingers curled into themselves and she pulled her hand back. "It's been nearly a year." Her eyes fell on her grave. "Think of the date. It's been—"

"Eleven months," Draco muttered hoarsely. He eyed her warily. He refused to look at the tombstone, the image of which had been etched into his memory.

She eyed him pleadingly. "It's nearly time. You have to let me go."

"No," he said automatically. "You don't have to leave. You can stay, and you know it."

Hermione sighed, her glance falling away from his as she spoke her next words softly. "I think we should meet less. I can, maybe, meet you once every two days. Then after some time, maybe once every three days." When her eyes met his, she looked at him meaningfully, effectively ignoring the way he stubbornly looked at her. "You have to try."

His jaw twitched as his body stiffened in anger. "Is that why you didn't show up on time? You wanted me to get used to you not being here?" She dropped her gaze again, her shoulders slumping in a way that Draco recognised as her embarrassment. "Why didn't you tell me, Hermione? Why didn't you tell me that you weren't coming?"

"Would you have let me if I told you?" she asked softly. She still looked away from him, her head low and her eyes hidden from him.

Draco cursed under his breath. Of course he wouldn't have allowed her to. He would have done something stubborn to force her to appear. He might have even threatened his own life if he had to.

Had he been able to touch her he could have easily placed two fingers under her chin and forced her to look him in the eye. This separation pained her as much as it pained him, he knew that much. If she would only _look_ at him, he could convince her to drop this fool's errand. She would only succeed in making them both miserable; she had to understand that.

His parents were dead, his friends were never his friends in the first place, and without Hermione he would be alone in the world. He didn't think he could handle that. She knew this, he had told her once years ago how she was the one bright spark in his life. He didn't think he ever needed to repeat himself. Once was always enough to tell his wife anything.

"What happens when you leave? What then?" he asked her coldly.

Hermione shifted, her eyes still kept maddeningly away from his gaze as she said sadly, "Then you will go back to your life. I won't be there to stop you from living the life you were meant to lead."

Draco let out a short laugh that was dry, humourless and caused his chest to compress painfully. When she finally looked up at him with a curious expression, his laughter stopped. Merlin, he wished he could kiss some sense into her. She still didn't understand, no matter how many times he had tried to explain it to her. He had no life beyond _her_.

"Draco—"

"Fine," he said explosively, his gaze cold. "If you want to leave me so much, then go."

She flinched as if he had slapped her, her eyes watering with unshed tears. "I don't want to leave you."

"You do," he said with a glare, something inside of him—something dark—taking great pride in hurting her the way she had hurt him. "You wouldn't be telling me this if you didn't."

Her eyes hardened. "Don't be stubborn. I'm doing this for _you_. You can't live your life like this. You can't keep putting me first. I'm not real; you understand that, don't you? I'm not really here with you."

Draco stood up swiftly, pushing himself off the tree with such a force that he nearly stumbled in his impatience. "What I want to do is my business, not yours. If I want to come everyday and see you instead of sitting alone in that large house, you will bloody well let me. Do you realise what you're asking me to do? I can't let you go! How could you ask me to do that? You were the only one who was ever there for me, the only one who ever understood me, and because of my bleeding aunt you were taken from me. If you think I'm going to let you go away, you're sadly mistaken. I won't let you go. You're _mine_."

His breath paused suddenly, the silence that fell immediately after Draco finished his words hitting him harder than he had expected. With embarrassment, Draco realised that he had yelled at her, refused to acknowledge anything that she wanted and laid a claim to her. If he were a better man he would have apologised profusely. But, he was not a better man; he was a proud man.

Hermione stood up slowly, her eyes sad and her expression closed off. "I won't be coming tomorrow, Draco, or the day after."

There was an sincere objection on the tip of his tongue, but Hermione spoke over him, her eyes glazed as a lone tear fell down one cheek.

"I wish you knew how hard this was for me. You wouldn't think that I was so heartless, then."

As the wind picked up and the moonlight was hidden behind dark clouds, she disappeared, her last words leaving Draco as empty as he had felt during the first few moments after he had buried his wife.


	4. Chapter 4

**Four  
**

**.**

Draco's fingers twitched as he paced up and down the hall, his teeth grinding annoyingly as he tried to respect some semblance of his wife's wishes. For the past two years, that's all he seemed to have been doing: keeping Hermione happy, doing whatever she says, respecting her wishes. It had come to a point where she had started to eye him warily until he told her in no uncertain terms that he would be doing what she asked, what she wanted, exactly how she wanted him to do it, from any moment she let exhaustion overcome her.

Merlin, if he only knew this would be his life when he had been younger.

As he passed the double doors to his bedroom, Draco paused, his feet itching to take him closer. He hesitated only for a moment before he stepped forward and took the handle by hand. Then he let go of the brass handle instantly, knowing that even though he didn't want to let Hermione be alone at a time like this, a larger part of him didn't want to be in the same room where the altercation was taking place. He was a coward when it came to things like this, proudly so.

He spent the rest of the half hour pacing the length of the hall, his footsteps muffled by the ancient carpet and his long, pale fingers straightening and re-straightening the portraits of the former Malfoy family members as he waited. He waited longer than he needed to. He continued to wait when he had been expected to leave. Just as he thought to sod the lot and barge into his bedroom, the door opened slowly.

Draco straightened his back and waited, expecting the first thing that he saw be a fist hurtling towards his face followed by a punch that he would allow because he knew he deserved it. He would only allow one punch, though, nothing more than that. He wouldn't let his guest be too greedy.

But, Potter looked far from angry as he closed the door behind him. His shoulders were hunched, his eyes sad and resigned. His glasses were balanced precariously on the edge of his nose, as if he had been taking it off and placing it back carelessly. When green eyes met Draco's own grey eyes, he recognised the look instantly, and an unfamiliar sense of empathy settled deep inside his chest. They had been enemies once, and now they were barely acquaintances, but there were certain things that could bring two people who hated each other as much as they did, together.

"Fancy a brandy, Potter?"

Draco wasn't at all surprised when Potter readily agreed.

* * *

The silence was heavy between them as they seated themselves in Draco's study. It was once a cold room occupied by his father, a large mahogany desk standing at one end with a long, intimidating walk prepared for the person who was called in for a meeting.

Hermione had fixed that within the first week of their marriage. She had furnished the extra room with a couch, two chairs and a coffee table, telling Draco again and again how it was important not to have any room look too aloof. Draco had fought her tooth and nail at the beginning, grumbling about the changes as often as he could. What he never told her, what he failed to mention, was how he preferred sitting on one of the plush chairs she had chosen rather than the uncomfortable seat his father once occupied. She wouldn't have let him live it down if he had.

This is where he sat now, nursing his brandy in a crystal glass that was gifted to him and Hermione by one person or the other, while Potter seated himself on the couch. His guest finished his drink in one gulp, wincing as the liquid burned its way down his throat.

"She's sleeping," Potter said suddenly as he placed his empty glass on the coffee table. "She was talking to me and she just fell asleep."

"That happens sometimes." Draco swirled his drink, his mind occupied. "She's so tired these days."

Potter bent down and shook his head, his hands entwining behind his neck with frustration. "I could kill her!" his words exploded in the quiet room, causing Draco to take another sip of his drink as he calmly contemplated Hermione's best friend.

_Ah! Anger!_ He remembered that feeling well.

"She waited two years to tell me! Two years! All that time when she said she was travelling, she was looking for a cure. We could have spent time together. We could have helped. She was selfish! So selfish!" Potter's eyes darkened as he fixed Draco with a hardened stare. "You could have told us."

"She forbid me—"

"Fuck that!" Potter said the words violently as he stood up and started pacing along the length of the couch. "She does things like this. She always puts others first. That's Hermione. But, that's not you." He rounded on Draco, voice shaking with anger. "I don't bloody care if she threatened to leave you, you should have come to me."

Just as the anger had burst forth, it fizzled, leaving Potter depleted as he turned away from Draco. "I have to go," he muttered. "I have to get Ron. He has to see her."

As Potter turned away from him, Draco glimpsed the quick movement of his hand as he raised his fingers to wipe away the streak of tears that had fallen unbidden down one cheek. Potter stormed out, his last words coming from him in such a low sneer that Draco couldn't help but hear.

"I won't forgive you for this, Malfoy. None of us will."

Potter left by slamming the door angrily behind him. Draco sighed before finishing his drink and placing his glass down next to Potter's. His wife might have been wrong this one instance when she had decided not to tell Potter and Weasley. At the time he had rejoiced at the decision she had made. All he wanted was to concentrate on finding a cure for the spell his aunt had placed on her all those years ago as she tortured Hermione in front of him, without having her best friends interfere.

And if he was honest with himself, he knew that the main reason he didn't want them to know was because they would have blamed him for not helping to prevent it. They had been locked in a dungeon, but he had been forced to watch. He didn't need a reminder that his failure had caused her to lose her life. That's exactly what Potter and Weasley would have done; they would have constantly reminded him.

_How was this better?_ Draco wondered. Apparently, it was years later and he was still making the wrong decisions.

Draco put the crystal glasses away and magically cleaned one room after another, making his way across the main hall of Malfoy Manor as he headed to his bedroom. There had been a time when he had had house-elves at his disposal, but knowing Hermione had changed that fact drastically. She had managed to send them all away in tears. She had stood horrified that the creatures were in such distress while he had allowed the creatures to cling to his leg and beg for forgiveness. Draco smiled at the memory, despite how angry he had been at the time. She was a storm, his wife, breaking and mending things as she went through the world.

As Draco opened the door to his bedroom, he was surprised to see tired, brown eyes watching him intently.

"Is he mad?" she asked quietly. Her voice was hoarse. Draco conjured up a glass of water and handed it over to her gently.

"Yes," he said without hesitation. "Now go back to sleep."

Hermione sat up gingerly before taking a small sip of the water and handing the glass back to him. She leaned heavily against the pillows and eyed him warily. "I might have been wrong."

Draco smirked, causing the glass of water to disappear with a quick flick of his wand before he sat down on the bed beside her. "Might is an understatement."

Without preamble, she broke, her frail shoulders shaking as a series of sobs wracked her body. Draco didn't hesitate before calmly circling his arms around her and pulling her against his chest.

"He hates me," she muttered against his chest, a hiccup following her statement as her fingers clutched onto him.

Draco let his hands roam over his wife's body, his frown deepening as he compared her form to how she had been just a week before. He could feel her rib bones under her back that had once been smooth and soft to his touch. Her arms were thinner and much weaker than before. When he buried his fingers in her hair to keep her to him, he was dismayed further to note that the strands didn't feel as thick as it once had.

He kissed her temple quickly, letting his arms just comfort her for a moment. "He's angry at the right person, and that person is not you."

Her sobs stalled quickly, a sniffle escaping her as she pulled back to see him. "It's not your fault. You know that, right?"

He brushed aside the messy strands of hair that had fallen against her cheek, choosing to kiss her mouth lightly rather than answer her.

"Draco—"

He didn't let her talk. Bending down, he fastened his lips onto hers gently, kissing her slowly and languidly until her breathing grew uneven.

"It's time to go to sleep, Granger," he said sternly, using the name he always did when he wanted a conversation to stop. "Don't make me tell you twice."

She didn't look appeased as he helped her further under the covers, but she did do as he asked, because as soon as her head hit the pillow, she was dead to the world.

Draco inhaled a shaky breath before he composed himself. Some days were taxing more than others, and today had been particularly difficult for him and his wife.

He was exhausted, but he didn't want to wake her by sliding into bed. Instead, he sat down on the chair that Potter had occupied when he had spoken to Hermione and picked up the closest book so he could read until he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer.

However, like the nights before, Draco didn't even bother to open the book that was placed on his lap, choosing instead to watch the gentle rise and fall of his wife's chest to convince himself that she was still alive.


	5. Chapter 5

**Five  
**

**.**

Draco trembled as the wind picked up around him. Logically, all he had to do was take his wand from the pocket inside his robes and place a warming charm over himself. Instead, he circled himself with his arms and tucked in his hands under his robes, a small shiver going through his body as the air got cooler around him. He leaned hard against the bark of the tree, letting his long legs stretch out as he made himself comfortable in his seat.

"You are _so_ stubborn."

He couldn't stop the small smirk that played on his lips as he regarded his wife who looked as frustrated as ever while she stood before him. "Noticed that, have you?" He lost the edge of his words when his voice came out as a hoarse whisper, another shiver wracking his body and distracting him greatly from this conversation.

Hermione's eyes widened. "Use your wand, Draco. You need to warm yourself."

He pulled into himself further, determined to use this situation to his advantage. "Not until you promise not to leave."

She was silent for a moment before she said carefully, "You're willing to die of exposure to get me to do what you want?"

His eyes darkened as he met her gaze seriously with his own. "If that's what it takes."

She looked away from him, her hands forming into fists as the wind picked up further. They were nearing winter. She knew he couldn't survive this weather unless he kept himself warm.

"I knew," he began shakily, "that this was the only way to make you come back. You wouldn't have known what I was doing if I was anywhere else. But you can't ignore me here, Hermione. I know you can't."

Her hands loosened as she kept her eyes away from him. "I always know where you are," she said softly, her voice resigned. When she looked back at him, her eyes were filled with unshed tears. "Don't do this, Draco. Place a warming charm on yourself. Don't die over something stupid."

He let out a small laugh that was too harsh for his throat. "Don't underestimate my stupidity."

Her eyes flashed with anger. "Then you're not the man I married."

"I'm every bit the man you married," he hissed.

"Prove it to me. Look after yourself."

"Not without you," came his stubborn reply.

He could see the exact moment when her resolve broke. Her shoulders sagged as a small sigh escaped her. "Fine," she said softly. "I'll stay."

His fingers were numb as he reached into the pocket of his robes and pulled out his wand. A quick incantation had him basking in delicious warmth as his wife's eyes studied him sadly. She got onto her knees before him, her smile sad, yet affectionate.

"Why are you doing this? You should be living your life fully, not visiting my grave everyday."

Draco let out a low sigh as he dropped his head against the tree in defeat. He was tired of having this conversation. He was tired of having this argument. "You don't understand…"

"Then help me understand," she pleaded. "Explain it to me."

He only shook his head with a brief jerking motion as he closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. He had only ever said the words once when she had been alive. He preferred to show, rather than to tell, but like always, when he was forced to utter any form of affectionate words, he couldn't look at her. "I love you."

She was silent for a moment. He could feel her gaze studying him carefully. "I know. But—"

His eyes snapped open so she could see how serious he was. He wanted her to understand what he could never quite articulate into words. "Only you."

She stared at him for a moment, the wind whipping around them never touching her to tousle her hair or provide a shiver to travel up her spine. "What are you saying?"

"I don't…" He took in a deep breath as he dropped his head forward, letting his hair cover his face under the moonlight. He let out a shaky breath, bending his knees so that he could balance his arms on his legs. He tried to look nonchalant, but he was failing miserably at it.

"What is it, Draco?"

It took him a moment to say the words, his fingers running through his hair roughly as he voiced his biggest fear. "I don't love myself as much as you think I do."

Her breath hitched. "Don't say that."

Draco shrugged in an effort to look casual about the whole thing. "I don't." A sniff escaped him as his chest compressed painfully at the thought of his own failings. He barely noticed how his voice got lower or how his eyes burned with unshed tears. "I've never done anything worthwhile. My parents are dead, my family hates me, and I've got no friends… All I have is a job that I don't like and a house that is too big."

"Draco…"

He smiled almost maniacally at her, his final barrier that was keeping him in check breaking fully and letting hot tears fall unbidden down his cheek. "And my wife died because I was a wanker who didn't stop her from getting tortured."

Hermione made a move as if to comfort him, but stopped herself, her eyes distraught as she watched him. "It wasn't your—"

"Yes, it was. We both know it. Don't humour me, Hermione." Any other time he would have been embarrassed by the way he was freely showing his weaknesses, but he needed her to understand. He needed for her not to leave him.

Tears fell down her own cheekS while he hastily wiped away his own. When she spoke, her words were full of sorrow and awe. "I've never seen you cry before."

"No," he said harshly as he straightened his shoulders and sniffed away his tears. He allowed a moment to let go and that was all he was allowing himself. He smirked at her, eyes red-rimmed, but dry only a second later. "I've never let you see me like this."

She hesitated only for a moment. "Your parents' funeral?"

He stared at her, holding her gaze in a way that dared her to look away. "And yours."

She did look away, almost as if she was ashamed for having caused him pain. The sigh that followed was resigned. "What do you want, Draco?"

"Another year," came his quick reply.

She was already shaking her head but he spoke over her.

"Another year and then I will let you go."

Hermione looked away from him, her eyes falling on the leaves of the tree as they danced in the wind. "That's what you said last time," she said softly. Her eyes fell on his and he saw stubbornness there. "You were never intending to let me go, were you?"

Draco stayed silent, even though his eyes met hers unwaveringly.

A sound of sad surprise escaped her. "I should have known. You've always been selfish."

He didn't say a word. She was right, of course. He was not the selfless kind. He was not Potter. He didn't do things unless he could benefit from them first. Hermione had managed to overlook that flaw when they had been together because there were times when he did do the random act of kindness. She had thought it was because he was improving as a person. The truth was, he wanted her to look at him that specific way she looked at Potter and Weasley, with pride in her eyes.

He missed that look greatly. He didn't miss the look of disappointment that she was currently giving him.

"You have to let me go."

"One more year."

"Draco—"

"Hermione."

She sighed, her eyes falling on the tree again. "Why did I have to fall in love with you?"

He smirked, his chest puffing out with pride. "Because I'm handsome, successful and a great lay."

Despite turning her head away from him, he could still make out the small smile that played on her lips. He grinned widely. Hope was not lost if he could still make his wife smile.

Her smile fell quickly, however, and she turned to face him with sad eyes. "I just don't want you to—"

"I won't."

"—hate me."

He stared at her incredulously. "Why would I ever hate you?"

She looked down, her hair shading her eyes from him. "What if one day you wake up and you realise that you've wasted your life under this tree? What if you start to hate me because of it?"

"I'm forcing you to come here, Hermione. I can't hate you for that."

She was silent for a moment before her words came out soft and hard. "I could leave if I wanted to."

Draco felt as if he had been kicked in his chest. All he could say was a surprised, "Oh," at the wake of such a realisation.

She smiled at him, her eyes full of tears and love. "I can leave whenever I want to. I don't have to stay here. But…" The tears fell in two thin streams down her cheeks, and Draco's fingers twitched with the need to wipe them away. "I'm not strong enough to leave you. Which is why I need _you_ to send me away."

Draco felt his lips split into a small smile, his heart expanding with happiness that he hadn't felt in quite some time. "You don't want to leave me?"

"Of course not."

"But you want me to send you away?"

"Because that is what _you_ need."

"Sod that," Draco said passionately. "You don't want to leave, I don't want you to leave, then there is no problem here."

"Draco—"

"One more year," he said again, wishing so much that he could pull her to him and kiss her in a way that made her stop thinking.

Hermione hesitated, her gaze meeting his and answering his unasked question. "One more year," she agreed with a gentle nod of her head.

The shared smile that followed was small, but not without sadness by either party.

They both knew it was a lie. It was, after all, their yearly ritual.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: I am so sorry, you guys. I got busy, and then I forgot that there was one chapter left. This is the last chapter, so that's something.  
**

* * *

**Six  
**

**.**

In the end it was a Patronus that had informed him.

It didn't say the exact words, simply telling him to leave for the Manor in two short words. _Come quickly_, it had said.

There was a heavy feeling in his gut as he ran to the closest Apparition point, a compression in his chest as he appeared on the grounds of Malfoy Manor. There was a sliver of hope, one so small, so fragile, that it made him run faster than he had ever done in his life only to throw open the large doors while he breathed deeply to catch his breath.

Ever since Potter had been told, the Weasleys had graced him with their presence by being friends and family who refused to leave. At any time of the day there was always someone looking after Hermione beside himself. It had been a welcome comfort, although they annoyed him with their happy chatter and generally ginger habits. It allowed him to leave the Manor more often to tend to the business. It gave him time to sort out the myriad of problems that had grown since Hermione had gotten too weak to work.

The last thing he ever wanted to see in his bedroom was the She-Weasel's red-rimmed eyes as she comforted her sniffling mother. He didn't say a word when her gaze met his, his glance then falling on his motionless wife.

He counted a few seconds, waiting for the steady rise and fall of her chest, and when the average time had passed, he waited some more.

"Malfoy…"

He blinked in surprise, his gaze falling on the She-Weasel as she spoke. He tried to say a word, finding his throat too constricted to even say the word. It took him a while, he had to clear his throat, the sound harsh in the heavy silence.

"Get out," was everything he could say, his voice to hoarse to travel far.

The mother bristled, immediately opening her mouth to chastise him, but it was Hermione's best friend who led her away with a fierce look, her glance meeting Draco's briefly before she was out the door and closing it with a soft click.

Draco stayed stiffly for a moment before conjuring up a chair so he could sit beside his wife.

She looked like she was asleep, the worry lines around her mouth and eyes soothed by her slackened expression. He took his seat where he usually did, taking her small hand in his much larger one as he sat in silence and waited.

It took him quite a while to realise that he was waiting for her to wake up.

* * *

The funeral was a large one. There was a sea of people in black, most of whom Draco had never seen in his life. Many of the mourners were witches and wizards who knew of her rather than those who had spoken only a word or two in greeting during the course of her life. The Weasleys huddled together with Potter. Those he had gone to school with and had tortured when he was younger stood just as close. Longbottom's gaze even flitted away when Draco's eyes had fallen on him by chance.

Draco stood a little away from everyone who attended, alone and happily so. He kept his eyes on the closed casket as it was levitated into the hole constructed only a moment ago. The tree it was buried under cast a welcoming shade over him.

The service was short, as he knew Hermione would want it, and as far from sweet as she must have expected it to be. All Draco could do was to block out the crying and wailing from beside him, choosing to concentrate on the slight breeze that fluttered against his dark robes. He stood straight, proud, his eyes dry and his hands clasped in front of him in a form of respect. Potter cried, Weasley sniffled, and Draco kept his eyes on the casket that was covered with earth before a tomb stone so simple it would have caused his family to feel insulted a long time ago.

As the service ended Draco continued to stay where he was, watching warily as those who had attended left one by one. Some had the courage to come up to him and give their condolences, others simply left without a word. Longbottom offered what he could through short, stumbling sentences. Draco simply nodded once and looked away, leaving Longbottom and the rest of the Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws of his year to walk away with the Weasleys and Potter.

It was the She-Weasel who stayed behind, silently standing beside him before his curiosity won out and he raised his head to face her.

There was such kindness in his eyes that he had never seen directed at him before.

"You shouldn't mind them," she said quietly. "They just want someone to blame and it's easier to blame you than Hermione." She hesitated a moment, her shoulders slumping with exhaustion, even as a lone tear crawled down her cheek. "I know we're not… friends. But if you need anything…" He looked away from her, and she faltered. "I'm sorry for your loss."

Draco watched her leave, a twisting in his gut reminding him of the amount of times Hermione had rolled her eyes, slapped his arm and said, '_Her name is Ginny, Draco. Ginny. Stop calling her She-Weasel and learn her name. She's one of my best friends, after all_.'

The walk back to the Manor was a slow one. He felt lethargic in his steps, his feet heavy and his very being defeated. It was not until he entered the bedroom he had shared with his wife and sat down on the edge of their bed, his hands reaching up to undo his tie, that the entire weight of what had happened really hit him.

It was sudden and it was silent, but for the first time in years Draco Malfoy cried.

* * *

Draco wasn't sure what made him think of it. It had only been a few hours since he had buried his wife and he was yet to sleep a wink.

He had been thinking about their conversations and torturously reminiscing about their arguments with each gulp of Firewhisky before the first inkling of a memory nagged at his consciousness. Before he could even think as to the possibility he was hoping for, he found himself opening the Malfoy Manor vault and stepping inside, passing ancient items before he reached for a jewellery box that had been charmed with a myriad of powerful hexes.

Taking it back to his study, Draco sat down by placing the box before him on the table. He then pulled out his wand to undo one hex after another, concentrating hard to focus on the memory so he could remember the sequence in which Hermione had used protective spells on this wooden box.

Once it was all done, once he was sure, he placed his wand carefully on the table and lifted the lid. As he remembered, the small, black stone simply stayed there, looking unimpressive and unimportant.

Hermione had gone looking for it in the Forbidden Forest years ago, knowing that keeping it out there gave it the opportunity for it to be someone's dangerous weapon. Draco never thought that he would ever use it.

He had turned it three times even before he could contemplate his options.

"Draco."

His heart stopped as he looked up. She looked the same, as she was the last time he had seen her. She looked tired, drawn, but her eyes were vibrant, even though her image looked more of a shadow than a proper corporeal form. She was smiling at him, and without meaning to, Draco smiled back, getting to his feet unconsciously with every intention to grab her to him.

But then her gaze fell onto his hand and her smile dropped instantly.

"What did you do?" she asked in panic, her eyes full of fear and worry.

He covered the stone with cold fingers, his expression defiant. "I wanted to see you. I didn't get to say goodbye."

She eyed him sadly. "I'm sorry. I tried waiting for you."

"I know."

She smiled lightly then, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "I left a letter for you. I gave it to Ginny to give you. She promised she would, after…"

He smiled despite the ache in his chest. "How many pages?"

Her eyes widened, a small laugh escaping her. The pang in his chest got worse. It had been months since he had last heard that sound. "Not too many."

"A hundred pages, then?"

She laughed again, and all he wanted was to hear her laughter continue. "Maybe a few more."

"I can ignore the first fifty pages then."

"Not if you want a haunting," she teased.

Her smile fell at the same time his did.

"I have to go now, Draco. I'm so glad… I'm so very glad that I got to see you one last time."

He wanted to agree with her, but the words were stuck in his throat.

Her smile was small and full of affection. "Goodbye, Draco."

"Goodbye," came his automatic reply, the word sounding too stiff to his own ears.

She watched him for a moment before she said gently, "Drop the stone."

Draco's eyes fell on the stone in his hand. It was such a small thing that had given him so much happiness. He couldn't imagine giving that away.

"Draco…" Hermione said insistently.

He was shaking his head as he pocketed the stone. "No. I'm not letting you go."

She eyed him incredulously. "You don't mean that."

He fixed her with a serious stare. "I do."

"You _know_ the story. You know how dangerous that stone is. It will drive you mad. Draco—"

"I'm done with this discussion, Hermione," he said harshly. "You'll stay here with me. This is not a debate."

She stared at him for a moment, disappointment colouring her gaze. "I can still go, if I want to."

"You wouldn't," he whispered, suddenly fearful for what she had threatened him.

"I'm not going to let you make a stupid decision." She straightened her back, her eyes sad. "Goodbye, Draco."

He didn't mean to, but when he spoke her name, his voice broke. She did stop, though. She did turn around.

"I just need to tell you a proper goodbye."

"We just did that."

"No. Not like this. I need… time." _I need you,_ went unsaid.

She contemplated his proposal for a while before she spoke. "How long?"

"A year—"

"Draco."

"Only a year. I'll let you go, then. I just need one year."

He could see the war inside her head, the list of pros and cons she was so used to making before any decision was made. "Only of you promise me something."

"Anything."

"I meet you only for an hour." His lips parted to protest but she spoke over him. "Only for an hour. In the evenings near my grave."

His lips quirked with amusement. "A bit morbid, don't you think?"

She didn't smile. "I need you to remember that I'm never coming back each time we meet. Agree to my terms, Draco. It's the only way I'll stay."

His expression sobered instantly. "You'll stay tonight?"

"No." She shook her head. "But I'll meet you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," he agreed with a nod.

"Get some rest." She smiled affectionately, her tone taking on a teasing quality. "You look awful."

Draco had barely decided to reply her when she disappeared in front of him.

It had been a taxing day, a tiring year and an exhausting lifetime, but Draco Malfoy couldn't help but touch a stone through the thick material of his robes and smile.

_Fin._

**.**

**A/N2 - Thank you to all who gave this a read. I know it's a difficult subject matter, so I appreciate you giving this a chance. Right then. I'm off to write comedy now. **


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